


Chasing Ghosts

by Caddaren



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, Homophobia, Lots of Angst, M/M, POV Second Person, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caddaren/pseuds/Caddaren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please let go of me,” you say, purposefully meeting his eyes the best you can. “So I can let go of you…”</p><p>His fingers untangle from your jacket and you stumble away from his doorstep. </p><p>He doesn’t follow you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starsarefallinglikeangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsarefallinglikeangels/gifts).



> Happy (Very Late) Birthday, darling <3 You'll be the only one who gets the official manuscript of this, but I hope this first chapter surprises you!

**CHASING GHOSTS**

**for Natalie (my Koganei)**

* * *

 

“Why don’t you let him speak for himself? He’s the one I’m confessing to, not you.”

Your relationship with Mitobe is a strange one. Not that this is particularly alarming as none of your other relationships seem to shift fully in normalcy and instead ghost _weird_ and _questionable_ in the first place. In other words, you don’t have many friends. Sure, you may be friendly and upbeat in all of your classes, enthusiastic and determined (not to toot your own horn) in club activities, but the list of numbers in your phone you can contact without fear has never hit double digits. That, of course, would never be a problem if not for the fact three of those numbers are family and the fourth is the family doctor’s office to schedule prescription refill pickups. Not that you particularly mind, but still, popularity could never be a bad thing.

You’ve got the basketball team to keep you company (and make your phone seem busier than it actually is), and you’re sure you can count on Hyūga, Kiyoshi, and Izuki for anything in any desperate situation (second years stick together, after all!) but your confidence falters when you’re looking for company just for the sake of getting out of your house. For that, there’s Mitobe Rinnosuke, the only contact with a given name along with it. Who knows what you’d do without the one number who constantly fills up your inbox ―texts, never calls― and your spare time.

You’ve known him since you were children, and truth be told you can barely remember a day since you met him that you haven’t talked, or at least met his eyes before class starts and smile encouragingly. So what if you’re exact opposites, because you work.

That being said, appearances aside, no one can ever claim you don’t fit well with each other. No one can claim that Mitobe is distant just because his mouth has _never_ fought against yours for dominance in a conversation, no one can claim that you’re too energetic for him when he laughs only at _your_ jokes in the quiet of his house. You understand perfectly well what he wants to say, after all these years; anyone who knows the two of you well enough can see that this silent exchange works due to practice and mutual benefit. Mitobe can voice his thoughts using your exuberance, and you, in turn, have been exposed to a lifetime of people and experiences through him. You’d even like to say that you both enjoy spending time together purely for the easiness you’ve developed only with each other.

You can name all of his siblings; he knows where all of your clean dishes go in your kitchen. You know the specific order in which he completes his chores (and what day he does what), and he could practically pass your midterms with higher scores with all the homework help you’ve received. You’re close. Close enough to keep a spare toothbrush in his bathroom, close enough to attend his family get-togethers (his grandmother is spectacularly fond of you), close enough to coordinate his surprise birthday parties for the past four years (after the first two, Mitobe undoubtedly expects them). Close enough to be invited to his sister’s wedding next month, to take his younger brother to his dentist appointment and hold his hand, to help them serve dinner, to sing karaoke after the dishes are done, to listen in on his speech lessons.

It comes as a bit of a shock, then, when Mitobe abruptly shakes his head at one of your interpretations. You pause, looking between him and the girl who had interrupted your stuttering redo. It’s not like you haven’t made mistakes before, it wasn’t like this was a life-shattering moment, it’s not like your heart is seizing in panic. You haven’t failed him, haven’t disappointed him. At most, it’s a surprise and nothing more. Mitobe isn’t the kind to dwell on things (unlike you).

_“Why don’t you let him speak for himself? He’s the one I’m confessing to, not you.”_ While the girl is deceptively cute and shy, the implications of that are painfully obvious, and her pouty glare reaffirms her feelings. _Give us some room,_ her eyes say, burning straight into yours.

Ex-fucking-curse you, you want to say, because Mitobe looks exceptionally uncomfortable and you HATE when people put him on the spot like this. But his shoulder nudges yours and he’s gently smiling down at you (probably because your mother is still hanging open in shock) and you realize this girl, Maki something, has a point. The convenience of your relationship often blinds you to the fact Mitobe can and does participate in solo activities ―without your help.

You swallow your words (all of the bad ones your mother would kill you for saying to such a nice young girl) and step away from his side. “Ah, sorry. I- I have library books to return, I’ll go do that now!” You grin, hopefully projecting a “no harm, no foul” aura, and give them their space.

You, for all your strange closeness and comfortable one-sided conversations, sharply remember just what lonely feels like.

The library welcomes you with solemn, silent arms. It’s one of Mitobe’s favourite places, which means somewhere along the way it became one of your favourite places too. You’re not sure when that line blurred even in your mind.

It’s homeroom, and while you regret giving up the chance to finish some assignments, you do not regret giving Mitobe and that girl the space they needed. Mitobe agreed to it, so it’s not like he was bullied into it. Still, you worry. It’s silly of you, you know; the separation won’t last long. Mitobe will text you, or walk down himself, once their conversation is over. He knows where you are, and no one but you can hold a long conversation with Mitobe in the first place.

You settle down at your usual table, square in the middle of the reading area, half read manga in your hand, and wait. You check your phone occasionally out of habit, both for the time and for any new messages. Nothing comes, and soon your eyes begin to trail towards the library entrance after page or so. Nothing.

Before you know it, it’s time for you to head back and gather your things before practice starts.

You find Mitobe in the club room like nothing out of the ordinary happened, and shove your things into the locker beside his (yours). “Hey,” you say, giving him a smile over your shoulder as you tug off your jacket and kick off your school shoes. He takes a break from tying his sneakers to smile back at you. “Everything all taken care of?” You ask, not knowing any other way to say it.

He nods and makes a small noise in the back of this throat. It’s not the dismissal you had been expecting, and your curiosity attracts the attention of a few first years.

“What happened?”

“I heard Mitobe got confessed to!”

“That really pretty girl in Class C, Maki Ayame.”

“The one with the long wavy hair. She seems so innocent though.”

Mitobe merely nods for them, smiling again.

“Well, did you really get a confession from her?”

Another nod.

“And?”

Mitobe repeats the small noise and you swallow. Instinctually, you step forward to explain, even if your eyes are searching his face for clarification. “You said yes to her,” and you hate how subdued your voice sounds. When he meets your eyes again, you see vulnerability there, and your body goes into overdrive. “That’s amazing!” You laugh, even though it’s not that spectacular in your opinion, except in the way he actually accepted.

There’s nothing _wrong_ with Mitobe; if he was more outgoing, his looks would get him dozens of suitors. Even in middle school, girls were curious about him, being so tall and broad for their age, being so quiet, being so polite and nice. Only you seem to see the value Mitobe holds, as a friend, as a partner, as a person. If anything, you’ve been waiting for him to find someone ever since you were in elementary school. “You’re such a gentleman,” you say, hitting his arm playfully as you sit down beside him and tie your basketball sneakers, “she’ll be blown away!”

That’s all you can say on the matter. Practice starts and any ideas of holding a decent conversation disappear when you’re breathing so hard you can’t even ask for a water break. Coach works you so hard you forget your own name. Your body aches before drills are over, and you feel kind of like throwing up (like always) but hey, you signed up for it. It kind of fun, too, but you don’t dare announce that because you’ve seen what Coach does to Kagami when he gets too excited to be on the court again. Learn from the mistakes of others and all that, what have you.

“Uwah, I could sleep for ten years,” you say, draping your body over one of the benches on the sidelines when the whistle blows for the last time. Cool down out of the way, all that’s left is for you to shower, go home, and grab something to eat.

Mitobe nudges you, and you open an eye to squint up at him. He tilts his head, and you smile. “Dinner at your house it is.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is living up to your expectations~

 It’s not as if what you and Mitobe hold is unique, or even traditional. Yours is not a friendship born from chance encounters or even close quarters. You’re neither family friends nor next door neighbors. There was not one single defining moment of clarity in your twelve year old brains when you met for the first time, or a dramatic encounter either.

Simply put, you, a clumsy kid, bumped into him in the hall of your middle school. His locker was several dozen down the line from yours but you knew his face and enough about him to bow and apologize without forgetting his name. It wasn’t the beginning of a strong friendship, wasn’t the start of a close bond. You didn’t even see him again for another month after that.

At the end of that month, you didn’t even remember the first meeting. How shameful. To be honest, the only perceivable reason he put up with you at first was because he had no other options, and by the time he did, you were simply the best one. It had taken you less than a year to assert yourself to that position, and your friendship with Mitobe has been unbreakable ever since.

Once you had entertained him for a full hour explaining the mechanics of your relationships and how they could relate to a half-melted marshmallow: sweet, warm, and impossible to remove without some remnants left behind. He had laughed and probably forgotten about it a few minutes later. You suppose that explanation still fits, despite how much time has passed. Only problems was, marshmallow is messier the tighter you one onto it. Does that as the years have gone by that your hands have grown progressively dirtier while Mitobe’s remain relatively clean? Not

Not to say that he has ever drawn away from you, or never been that close to be begin with, simple that you’ve always felt as if you have to try harder than he. The friendship is not an unstable or one-sided one by any means, and you get just as much as you give… but… Mitobe has always moved with a certain grace despite his vocal limitations. Once he found a place an on athletics program, new friends popped up everywhere. Unlike your own forceful bonding, Mitobe _attracted_ naturally and easily; he is by no means popular or isolated. Unless you’re voicing his thoughts for him, you’ve kind of acted as a tag along. Accepted but not sought after.

Regardless, it hasn’t bothered you for quite some time now. Joining the club along with him was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. Now you share friends and space, no you’re called upon and called after. Now, when you look up at him it’s not to read an answer from his eyes like some royal translator. Now, you have things to show him, to teach him, just as he has always shown and taught you for so many years.

“You have plans?” he nods, smiling as he usually does. You swallow your instinctual exclamation and take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“Well, it’s not like it’s the only day we can go to the cinema. What about next week instead?”

Mitobe looks to the side, brow furrowing in thought. You sigh out a chuckle. “I’ll guess we’ll see when next week comes around.”

* * *

 

Next week comes around and your phone remains untouched. Mitobe doesn’t mention it in class or during practice.

You shrug it off; it didn’t look like that good of a film anyway. 

* * *

 

After so many years together, Mitobe’s family has practically become your own. Sometimes, you’re in his home when he is not. Sometimes, his mother forgets your name and calls your one of theirs. Sometimes, you feel more at home in the Mitobe household than in your own.

One would think that such a large family has no room for one more. You’re close enough to know money is always tight and each child is expected to find a part time job at a certain age instead of relying on an allowance. You know that Mitobe worries every night, and sometimes has to miss weekend practices in order to keep his job. You know that they are one of the nicest, warmest, happiest families you’ve ever met.

You know they’ll always accept you as one of their own.

“Nii-chan, are you spending New Years with us again?”

You look down at the six year old hanging off your ankles and smile. It’s a bit difficult to move about the kitchen with him there, but it feels almost natural. “I plan on it,” you say, rinsing off a clean plate and handing it down the line for someone to towel-dry.

“Good!” There’s an echo of agreement down the ―very efficient, very convenient― line of helpers.

“We’ll be happy to have you if your mom’s working again, Koganei,” Mitobe’s mother says, handling you a tray with tea and snacks and taking your place at the sink. “He’s home, go make that to his room and make sure he comes down for supper! He’s not eating enough lately!”

You laugh, careful of the squeaky steps n the stairs as you make your way up. A knock on his door is no longer necessary. He’s at his desk, hunches over a textbooks, his cellphone in his hand.

“Who’re you texting?” He shrugs. You take your usual place on the floor leaning against his bed. For the longest time, Mitobe had shared a room with one of his brothers, but that brother was no attending a university.

You’re already making quick work of the tray by the time he turns in his chair and takes his cup of tea. His phones buzzes and he flicks it open immediately.

* * *

 

You’ve shared classes with Mitobe since your third year of middle school. At first, it has just been P.E each afternoon because several homerooms combined to make a bigger class. You would see him occasionally, maybe even be on his team during games. You’d see him running laps, always towards the back of the group, staring at the the ground in front of his feet. No one bothered him, but it wasn't like he disappeared as Kuroko does. It took your two weeks to get him to look you in the eye for more than a few seconds. It took another two for him to to seek you out instead of waiting for you to to find him. He’s been sneaking up behind you ever since, a constant presence at your shoulder every day.

Now, however, there is a girl in between you. Maki has a powerful yet cutesy walk, one that calls attention to her but passes off as adorable instead of strange. You like her, to be completely honest, you like her a lot. She makes a pleasant addition to your duo, makes you both seem more approachable. Mitobe smiles more often now that she’s around, you believe. You even have an influx of friends because of Maki, who knows what Mitobe says just as well as you but manages to say with far more finesse. More people like her, more people like him. They’re quickly growing in popularity as one of those “loyal couples” who only have eyes for each other, who everyone finds honourable and super _cute._

If you hear someone call them _cute_ one more time you’re going to vomit on their shoes.

“What should we do today, Mito-chan?” You twitch slightly, but hide it by pretending to scratch your arm. Today is a Friday, which means Mitobe works tomorrow and therefore likes to get to bed as early as he can manage after club activities and house chores. Mika should know this, having already three Friday’s with Mitobe.

“Koganei? You’re making a scary face!”

You blink and shake yourself a bit. “Oh, sorry, I’m really tired… I don’t have anything planned, but I don’t know about him.” You stand from your seat and pick up your notebook. Mitobe watches you, bus arms crossed over his desk. “But I’m free so text me if…” You trail off at the look on her face. You swallow loudly, and shoulder your bag. “On second thought, I think my mom wanted me to help her with her garden-” your mother doesn’t have a garden “-this weekend, so I’ll have to pass. Sorry again.”

“That’s too bad, have fun with your mom though!” Mika chirps, giving you a one armed hug in her usual way. Its feels likes a shove out the door.

“I’ll try,.” You smile. It feels fake. “I’m off to practice early. S-see you around, Mitobe… kun.” He gives a nod, and you are effectively dismissed. You feel his eyes follow you out.


	3. Chapter 3

You feel not unlike a stranger. It’s not as if you’ve forgotten everything between you; it’s not as if you’re unwelcome in his life. But, with a sinking in your gut you realize you are no longer Mitobe’s closest friend. It’s a strange tightening in your chest more than anything, hot, sharp, not dull, not especially strong nor weak.

“Koganei?” His mother says, making you jump where you stand in the doorway of their home. “Are you alright? Did he not tell you he was going out?” She looks worried, because you and Mitobe always know where the other is. Of course she’s concerned, you’re haunting her front porch.

“Sorry, I guess I forgot… we rescheduled our study date. Can I still come in?”

“Of course! Would you like a snack or some tea?”

“Excuse the intrusion. Tea, thank you. I’ll help you,” you say, placing your bag on the table and moving to wash your hands in the sink. She smiles and sets the kettle to boil.

“What were you two working one?”

“Oh. Uh, we don’t have a set subject to work on. I kind brought all my books today, just in case.”

“I’m sorry he’s out. If you want I can help you with something.”

“No, no it’s fine. If I can just borrow your couch for a couple hours?”

“I can’t say you won’t be bothered, but you’re welcome to try.” You laugh and pick up your bag. “If you want, you can use Rinnosuke’s room instead. It’ll be quieter and the kids won’t plow you over every few minutes.”

You pause, frozen in another doorway. “Sure, I’ll get out of your way," you say, climbing the stairs with lead feet.

His room is as it always is: bright, warm, but kind of small. There’s one window on the outward facing wall that lets in sunlight, and a low bookcase next to his desk. You’ve slept over on that floor enough times to know which floor boards creak, which box under his bolds memoirs from his younger years ―his first tennis racket, a few birthday cards from his siblings, a macaroni face his younger sister made for him at some daycare, his cat from when he broke his arm in the third grade― and which ones Mitobe has never let you look inside. You used to tease him about it, claiming it was filled with confession letters and presents from girls, but nowadays you only remember it’s that at times like these. The opportunity is tempting for only a second before you sigh and place your tea down on the desk. You bag feels heavier then you remember. Maybe you should head home and crawl into bed.

Instead you pull your textbooks out of your bag with a sigh and start reading as you nibble on the cookies Mom gave you with the tea.

Next thing you know the door opens and closes and your face is pressed against your book and there are crumbs embedded in your cheeks. You try to lift you head and find the overhead light off, only the bedside lamp keeping you from total darkness. You hear a light thump and then a scuffle of shoes by the door. A question in your head translates only to a mumbled “mnm?”

A hand finds your shoulder and through the haze of sleep you hope he doesn’t shake you. You must mumble again because those fingers pause and then shift and slide under your armpit.

Then you’re in the air and pressed against a chest you’ve fallen asleep against so many times before. Strange how you recognize him by touch more than anything. Maybe you’re hyper-aware of him. Maybe you’re too tired to try and open your eyes. Maybe you’ve given up on rationalizing your relationship.

You don’t expect Mitobe to say anything, and in the dark you can’t exactly communicate in your usual way, so sluggishly your fingers plunder at the collar of his coat. Whether or not he understands what you’re trying to say ―what are you trying to say?― is yet to be clear.

Mitobe sets you down on the edge of his bed and unbuttons your jacket before rolling you under the covers. The kindness isn’t lost on you, and in your exhaustion you feel emotion well up in your chest. It nearly chokes you, but you don’t say a word. His name must escape you because his hands are shocked to stillness. You doze off before you can hear ―feel― his response.

* * *

 

You know you’re not in your bedroom by the distinct lack of sunlight assaulting your eyelids when you wake up. That, and with how much you tend to flail and escape your cover, waking up safely underneath them signals that someone had either remade the bed around you, or held you still at night,. Probably the former. Back when you were both relatively smell, Mitobe would wake in the middle of the night, kicked halfway off the bed and deprived of any covers at all. He had never fully trained you out of it, apparently. Nowadays, it only returns when you’re stressed, which you choose to ignore for today.

You would have been perfectly content to roll over and fall back to sleep if not for a single nagging thought in your mind. You know you’re not in your own bedroom, and you know you’re in Mitobe’s instead. It used to be common before you both grew too big to comfortably share a mattress. Had you won the rock-paper-scissors match and stuck Mitobe with a futon on the floor? No, that doesn’t sound right.

The door opens behind you and your eyes snap open. The day before comes flooding back to you. You flail on the bed, kicking the covers away from your legs. Where are your shoes?! Where’s your jacket? You need to get out of here. Mitober stands in the doorway looking stunned, his heavy eyebrows high on his head. He’s carrying a tray with tea and toast for two. Something in your throat sticks, thick and dry. Shame burns on your cheeks.

“I am so sorry,” you say, swiftly tugging on your jacket and scrambling for your books. You’re deliberately not looking at him, not wanting to see what he has to say, but you hear him set the tray down and step towards you. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” you says, knowing you shouldn’t even had showed up in the first place.

His hand catches your arm after you sling your bag over your shoulder. You hear his throat struggling, the familiar “ko” starting on his tongue and refusing to finish. It makes you feel like shit, forcing him to such a desperate attempt. You place your hand over his, body turning to him of it’s own accord.

“Rinnosuke,” you start, his first name somehow easier for you. “I-” his phone buzzes on his desk, making you jump. Your eyes dart away from his face. “It‘s fine,” you say, offering up a smile. “I get it, you know,” you continue, moving from him and opening the door. “I won’t bother you again, I know you’re busy.” You're just being dramatic, and you know it,  you know you might regret these words later, but you’re already down the stairs before he can move to follow you and dammit it hurts, it hurts , it hurts, it hurts like someone is knifing you through the chest and strangling you around the throat. How can people do this? The people on tv make it look so easy.

It’s a dance out of his house, giving quick hugs and shallow apologies to his family. You can feel him trailing along behind you, trying to catch up without upsetting his younger siblings. You use it to your advantage and have your shoes on shoved on before he catches you to you.

He holds you by the biceps, large hands keeping you in place.

A second apology is on your tongue.

“Shin,” he says, trying your first name this time. You wonder why he doesn’t just sign to you, as he often does with more complicated conversations. You learned it for you, after a few months of trying to egg him into talking. It hurts to hear him trying so hard. Heat pricks your eyes.

“Please let go of me,” you say, purposefully meeting his eyes the best you can. “So I can let go of you…” It sounds too much like a confession for you to handle, and when his fingers untangle from your jacket, you stumble away from his doorstep.

He doesn’t follow you.

* * *

Mitobe was gone when you awoke in the morning so you couldn’t apologize to him. You don’t mention that night. If not for being in the same class, you barely talk to each other. You fill your time with basketball and studies. Your phone remains silent. You make sure to visit only when Mitobe is busy with work. You hope his family never asks you why.

They don’t bother you about it, but you see their worried frowns. You feel like shit for troubling them but your fear of confrontation is stronger.

You crossed a line and you know it, leaving you anxious and flighty. You know how scared Mitobe’s personal space is to him, with all those siblings in such a tiny house, but it used to be you were always welcome. You were always his number one, his confidant, his partner in crime, And yeah, you understand that he has more friends and a girlfriend now, but you had thought he’d save a little time for you.

Maybe you’re just being selfish. Maybe you’re not giving him a chance. Maybe he’s been trying to spend time with you for a while now but hasn’t seen you enough to ask. Then again, he hasn’t texted you once since you stopped initiating the conversations. Maybe not…

“What’s got you down, Shinji?” Your mother asks, sitting down across the table from you,

Your sister snorts and says, “his boyfriend dumped him,” and you curse her silently as your mother frowns. It’s rare for her to be home anyways, why does she have to be home today?

“Shinji,” she call after you as you leave the table.

“I have to get to school,” you shout, slamming the front door behind you. Your heart pounds and your shoulders sag as you walk.

The rest of your day is no better.


	4. Chapter 4

The next month passes in a blur for you, a hazy mixture of homework and basketball and lazy, nothing to do Sundays. You try to keep busy, join a study group, volunteer for extra basketball practice to help a few first years with basic drills and three-pointers. The library becomes your new best friend and you are quickly labelled as a has been, with no one interested in your without Mitobe by your side. Strange how that’s not what bothers you, considering you’ve been next to Mitobe for years.

You see him sometimes in the hallways; your eyes catch for a second. Class with him comes and goes. You pass your math exam with excellent marks. Winter break is fast approaching. Your sister gets a new boyfriend, and older man. Your mother berates her for two hours at the kitchen table, but ultimately offers to give her blessing if he comes to dinner. He seems like a nice man, if a bit loud.

Mitobe’s younger sister catches you after club practice before Mitobe shows up.

“Koga-nii!” She chirps, looking fresh in her new middle school uniform. She bounces on the balls of her feet but does not hug you like she might in her own house. “When are you coming home?” She asks, despite being one of the older siblings and one of the few who actually understands that you are not actually related by blood: You’ve been glued to Mitobe’s side so long most of his siblings don’t realize you’re not a real older brother.

“I’ve been very busy, imouto,” you say, dropping your eyes.

“Well make time!” she sings, then glances over your shoulder. Still attuned to his presence (the guy never announces himself), you sense Mitobe moving closer.

“I’ll try,” you say. It’s not like you can ask when Mitobe will be out of the house and plan accordingly.

“At least some over for New Years,” she says, Mitobe now a looming presence at your back.

“I will,” you choke out, throat dry. He makes no move to touch you, but he’s crowding so close it’s like he’s already plastered to your skin. You hate how comfortable it feels.

“I’m sorry I have to go, just call me okay?” You says, stepping around her. She calls after you but all you do is wave. You hear her ask Mitobe what’s wrong with you, but you don’t stick around for his reply.

* * *

 

Winter Break arrives with a bang. Decorations litter the neighborhood, making your walk to and from school bright, colorful, and slightly headache inducing. Your sister announces he won’t be spending the holiday with your family, instead with her boyfriend and friends. Your mother storms around for the next few days, angry at the slightest spark or mention. You avoid her. It’s the first time in nearly a month you spend time at Mitobe’s house. He’s out with his father picking up family from the countryside. He’ll be gone for two days. You sleep over, all smiled until his bedroom door closer behind you and you nearly crumple. to the ground. His room looks the same. It smells like him, it feels like him. His school jacket drapes over the back of his chair. The moonlight streaming through the window weighs on your back like lead.

You wake up and refuse to dwell on the fact you slept in his bed again, even as nostalgia creeps up on you. It’s not like he had been sleeping next to you; there’s no reason to he be affected. Instead you help with breakfast (one of his chores) and spend the rest of the day baking, cleaning, and babysitting. The youngest, only four years old, can’t remember your name and instead calls you big brother. The trend picks up and all progress on the “not related” front is lost. You laugh it off.

Dinner is an easy affair, in fact it’s so casual you have no warning for the ambush waiting for you. His mother corners you in the kitchen once the table is cleared and the children start a board game.

“Koganei,” she says, her voice soft. Your throat seizes up, tight and relentless. “Did something… happen?”

Your eyes catch your toes. What can you say? That you have stronger feelings for her son than you should? That you’ve chosen to draw away instead of hurting the both of you? That you’d rather he remember you as a childhood friend then as a disgusting homosexual?

“He’ll forget about me eventually,” you promise, figuring she must have noticed Mitobe acting differently.

She sighs, “Maybe… but will you be able to forget about him?”

It strikes you that while Mitobe isn’t your only connection to this family, he is the strongest one. Perhaps it had been a mistake to believe you’d always have a place here? How can you let him move on if you’re constantly in his house, in his bedroom, even if he’s not there to see you.

“You’re right,” you say, and she frowns.

“No, I don’t want to be. Whatever happened between you two is making you both miserable. Please, will you confide in me?”

And how can you say no to the one woman who has been more like your mother than your own? You end up sobbing at the table with her arms around your shoulders, dirtying her shirt collar with your tearful confession. You grow more upset knowing she might not let you back into her house or around her children knowing you’re “that way”.

“I have a brother,” she says, softly,. “He opened my eyes in many ways.” It’s vague, but it makes you shudder and sob with relief. You have no doubt how your own mother would, and how Mitobe would react. You bury your face into her shirt until you stop acting like a baby.

Ashamed of yourself, you don’t meet her eyes as you wipe snot from your nose.

“I’m sorry for troubling, you,” you say, but she simply smiles.

“We’ve been worried… We’ve _all_ been worried.”

“I don’t want him to know, and being around him now is too risky.” And too painful.

“I understand, I won’t tell him.But you need to talk to him.”

She makes you tea and coaxes you to bed after all her children have fallen asleep. Her hand on your forehead feels guilty as it soothes you to sleep.

* * *

Your mother calls you in the morning to inform you of the impromptu vacation her and your father are going on, One of your aunts wants them to visit for the holiday, which means even if you go home, your house will be empty for three to four days. It’s not like you were expecting to celebrate as a family or visit shrines together but… still…

Mitobe-sama sends you home for a change of clothes; insisting you come back and spend time with them instead of sitting alone at home. You take the train, packed tight with travelers and tourists. Someone’s hand settles a little too close to your backside for you to ignore but you’re off at the next stop and at least they’re not actively touching you.

The hand just begins to move too close when the train comes to a stop and you’re out the opening doors before the conductor can finish announcing the location. Certainty it had been a man makes you feel even dirtier. The temptation of a shower in your own home overwhelms you, but you know Mitobe-sama will want you to bathe with the youngests and that thought keeps you focused. One backpack full of clothes a four new mangas later and you're back on the train, Fortunately no one bothers you this time.

* * *

“Koga-nii,” the boy, Kaoru, says, small hands smacking against the shallow water. You hum in response, busy spreading suds onto his skin and his siblings. “Why are you always running away?”

The topic of conversation gains all their attention, and suddenly you’re being cornered by four youngsters, ages three to ten, who stare at you with expectant eyes.

“Running away from what?” You ask, focusing on washing them the best you can in the small tub. The task is a small reparation for eating at their table. It’s not like you mind either.

“Nii-chan,” two of them say together, almost like the conversation is practiced.

It takes you a few minutes to speak again and they wriggle impatiently under your soapy hands. “Well you see,” you say, a grin growing on your face, “Rinnosuke and I are actually playing a game of tag… Every time he spots me I have to run.” A chorus of “oh!” rises and you laugh. “Or else,” you continue, hands crawling forward like spiders, “he’ll reach out and SNATCH ME!”

You snag one of them, prompting screeches and laughter as the rest of them take off out of the tub, soaked and completely nude. It makes a mess of the bathroom floor, and their mother won’t be too happy, but you let go of the squirming child. Your punishment is to mop up the floor and set them to bed.

You’re passing by the top of the narrow stairs when you hear Mitobe’s parents talking with each other. You don’t stay to hear what they have to say, already panicking. If his father is home, so is Mitobe. Should you leave? It would be both rude and impractical given the time of night and the lack of time you have to pack again. If you hurried, you could pretend to be asleep… but there’s no futon on the floor for you. You’ve been using his bed for the past two nights; it’s a mess.

With no way to avoid it, you dash down the hall and shut the bedroom door behind you.  Refusing to falter now, you flick off the lights and make a dive for the covers, praying Mitobe will be too tired to care or too lazy to kick you out.

It’s a small mercy that he leaves the lights off when he finally does come up the stairs. His mother must have told him that you were still here. You’ll definitely head back home tomorrow night.

You lie still, aware you’re probably breathing too loud and too quickly.

Mitobe doesn’t try to say anything, doesn’t try to touch you. He pulls a pillow off the bed and leaves without a fuss. It takes your heart all night to calm down.

* * *

Breakfast is uneventful but happy, with your forgetting anything ever went wrong in the first place. The youngest children keep you busy for most of the morning. It only around lunch, faced with the prospect of sitting across a table from Mitobe, that you make your excuses and take your leave. Only your promise to return appeases them. Mitobe stares after you, thick eyebrows low.


	5. Chapter 5

The New Years festival brings games, candle lanterns, expensive food, and formal wear. Mitobe’s family donned silky kimonos each year, but you can’t be bothered putting on anything fancier than a clean pair of socks. You can admit they look good, but you refuse to look at them too long. Just in case. Kimonos are not going to be a new turn-on for you. The joya no kane at the local temple are already ringing and Mitobe’s siblings are downing more bowls of toshikoshi-soba and hoarding their otoshidama from each other.

You still refuse to look at him too long.  

Mitobe-sama would never actually ask you to supervise her children, not wanting to take away from you free time, but you don’t mind and it’s not like you don’t it most days anyways. She has the youngest on her hip, her husband has two in his arms, and you have on on your back. Mitobe ran off after one of them. The others run this way and that, never straying too far but never actually in the same place more than once. the festival itself is equally chaotic, but you don’t mind. You've come here every year as a kid and while the games don’t hold as much attraction as they used to, the noodles still make your mouth water.

“I can take them, if they’re hungry and you’re not,” you offer, snagging a hyper child by the arm and tugging him back to his half-finished bowl.

“If you wouldn’t mind, we can give you money for the food.”

“Nonsense, I can pay for my own,” you say, and watch them wtrail away, seeking more attractions. You buy a bowl for yourself and sit down, making sure all children are within your field of vision. The next ten minutes are spent trying to get more food into their mouths than on their clothes. It’s an uphill battle.

“Nii-chan!” Two of them call, waving frantically. Your heart stumbles as you turn to follow their gazes.

“Rinnosuke,” you say, bowing your head politely. It’s best to stare at his sandals, not his kimono. The kimono is a red zone, practically warned off with “do not” tape.

He stares at you for a few seconds before returning the resture. Picking up one of his brothers, Mitobe sits down next to you. You are all too conscious of the space between you, and for a single moment you almost lean against his side you used to. You catch yourself, and focus on the food before you.

You feel his eyes on the side of your face.

“Mama!” You make an aborted movement to catch the child who rips out of Mitobe’s arms, but he places a hand on your shoulder, shaking his head. It’s the first contact you’ve had in months. You nearly ache for it.

You both sit back down, a four year old still settled comfortably in your lap and a few of hi siblings around you slurping loudly and splashing noodles at each other. Between you two, however, the silence stretches on, and it’s the only thing you can hear. It is no longer pleasant as it used to be, but tense. You owe him an apology, or even an explanation, so you summon your courage.

His hands move in a small sequence you barely see before you’re protesting. “You have nothing to apologize for!” You’re nearly yelling, starling the boy in you hold from his near slumber, there’s a to placate him before you twist to face Mitobe head on.

“No, stop it,” you say, frowning. “You did nothing to-to upset me or drive me away.” It was all, is all, my fault. Let me take responsibility for being the shittiest best friend in the world.”

Mitboe’s eyebrows up in question, you have to look away. You heart is beating out of control. You’re not ready for this.

You soothe his baby brother to distract yourself from your words. “I;’m sorry I got all weird, I’m sorry i started butting into your time with Make… I hope she’s well, I kind of miss her… I’m sorry I kept seeing your family behind your back, I won’t if you don’t want-” he lays a hand over yours, making your throat seize up. You stare at his knuckles long enough to regain your breath. then he signs to you. “You’re family,” he signs, and tears prick your eyes.. They’re good tears, you’re fairly sure, product of the relief that drops heavy in your stomach.

“Yes,” you say, choking a bit. “Family. I love you your family and-” but he interrupts you again, actually looking quite troubled . HIs hands fly, growing faster and f more frantic. You can’t follow that easily and can only catch every few words. it’s jumbled and gibberish, and you obvious confusion only upsets him more. “Wait, Rinnos-”

“No,” he says, clear as a bell. there one syllable stops you dead. His voice is rough , underused and unpracticed. It’s always fascinated you, honestly, but you’ve never had the heart to ask him to hold a regularly conversation, having absolutely no interest in watching him struggle to respond when you love his signing just as much.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he signs, hands dancing slower in the air between you. You frown, petting the head of the child in your lap.

“What do you mean?”

“I love you,” Mitobe signs. You think.

You shake your head, sure your interpretation is off target. “can you-” re repeats it before you can finish, and continues to repeat the same movements desperately until you place your hand ov his bs before he draws even more attention to you both.

“Mitobe, no” you say, trying not to speak too loudly over his little brother. There’s a tension in your chest that refuses to let up, and you feel the oncoming tears just in time to shove them back where they came from.”You don’t know what you’re saying, okay? You- you like girls, right? Go back to Maki and take her on a nice date and go back to-”

One of his hands rests on your jaw, making your pulse jackhammer under your skin. The only thing you can hear is your own  heart, so it’s a good thing Mitobe never really spoke much in the first place. he scoots closer, his thigh hot against yours, his knee knocking against your knee. You can feel his breath, see the flecks of honey brown in his blue eyes. No doubt he can see the dusting of freckles on your face, the redness of your eyes. He has dark circles under his, and you’re sure you have ones to match, but it makes you feel no better knowing you're probably caused both of them.

“You’re just- you have a chance, Mitobe, you can ignore these, this sick, disgusting-” he places a kiss on your forehead, but you trudge on, voice warblings, “stupid, perverted, “another kiss, this one to your brow, “fake, feelings and,” a kiss to your nose “and go back to,” two to your eyelids, making your lashes flutter “girls and get married someday, and,” a lingering one to your cheek, warm and dry, “have- have your own ki-” the corner of your lips, making your stutter, sobbing deep in your chest, “kids. You could have your own kids. And a house, and a good job, and-” but when he kisses you, bending over the sleeping child in your arms, you forget what’s so perfect about all of that anyway.


End file.
